


Don't Look Down

by mariana_oconnor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor
Summary: Tony didn't mean to sleep with Bucky, but after it happens once, it just keeps on happening. And no matter what anyone says, there aren't any feelings involved. It's just sex. Really.He's not kidding anyone.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: _Bucky is very explicitly protective of Tony, whether out in the field in Winter Soldier mode, or against bad press - Tony's protectiveness is much more subtle, taking care of problems before Bucky even realises they were there, from making sure his favourite products are never out, that there's always someone to keep him company when he can't be alone, to sneakily introducing him to good things, and stuff that facilitates healing. Maybe an outside view of someone keeping track of it? And then Bucky notices something, and starts noticing more, leading to first times, or a deepening of a fuck buddies arrangement into a romantic relationship._
> 
> It's not quite exactly that, but I hope it's close enough. This is actually the second fic I started for this, but the other one became a bit of a monster and there was no chance of finishing it on time. It may one day come to light, who knows. 
> 
> I've never written WinterIron before, or even Tony before, and this is entirely from his POV, so I hope it works and I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the awesome prompts.

Tony Stark has never met a bad idea he couldn’t make worse. And this was a terrible idea before he got his hands, and his mouth… and his dick, all over it.

Barnes is snoring, not loud or obnoxious, but enough to let Tony know that he’s still breathing and Tony didn’t manage to kill him last night with the force of his orgasm, which had genuinely been a concern he’d had for a minute there, with the noises Barnes was making.

Tony lets his head collapse back onto the pillow and stares at the ceiling, because he’s done some stupid things in his time, but this has got to be near the top of the list.

Well… Ultron’s probably quite high up there. And the entirety of his twenties is like an extended afterschool special, but sleeping with Bucky Barnes…

Steve is probably going to murder him. Barnes is still… not fragile, Tony’s never met someone as strong willed, but he’s still not quite found his centre. And this was supposed to be for the job, just a weekend trip to check out a company that could be a front for AIM, separate hotel rooms, Bucky just there for back-up because everyone else was busy.

Except…

Except…

He turns his head to look at Barnes, who’s sprawled out like a big cat, his mouth slightly ajar with lips that Tony has seen stretched obscenely around-

His cock stirs with interest at the memory and Tony resolutely turns to the ceiling again, because it’s one thing to make this mistake in the heat of the moment, when Barnes had been up in his face and the only options he had seen were to kiss or punch the man, but now, in the cold grey light of dawn…

Barnes makes a noise in his sleep and turns over, his hand coming over to rest on Tony’s stomach, warm and heavy. It doesn’t do much for Tony’s libido. Or rather it does.

Shit. Tony needs to be out of this bed, which still smells like sex and sounds like Barnes and feels like bad ideas.

He needs fresh air.

He rolls free of Barnes’ arm and pulls himself upright. Upright he can see the clothing scattered over the floor. Not much – most of it had been lost before they’d even got through the bedroom door. He remembers that Barnes had been heading for the couch, but Tony had insisted that Barnes deserved a bed and telling him how good he’d look against the ridiculously expensive sheets.

He’d been right about that.

“T’ny?” Barnes mutters, still half asleep. Tony’s going to give himself some points for wearing the guy out.

He wishes he’d been drunk last night, properly drunk, not just buzzed, because there’s no way the memory of the feel of it, the push and pull, the stuttering breaths, the sound of his name, half word, half exhalation, on Barnes’s lips is ever going to leave him. It’s settled under his skin. Like a tattoo, like an itch, like a splinter.

If he were home, he’d already be in the workshop, queuing up his playlist, burying himself in plans. But the workshop is a world away. He can head out to the café across the street from the hotel, maybe, avoid the inevitable awkward ‘now what’ portion of ill-advised sex, like he usually does. But as he’s sitting up, the hand on his waist spasms.

“T’ny?” Bucky – Barnes, Tony corrects in his head; he has to keep his distance, keep his cool – says again. When Tony turns back his eyes are opening, confused. “Wha’?” He blinks and then Tony can see when it settles in his head. “Huh,” he says.

Tony waits for the rest of it. Waits for the hurried back pedalling, the apologies, the “it’s not a good ideas”, the ‘let’s not do that again’. Nothing more comes. Barnes isn’t usually very talkative, Tony will admit, but he was expecting more than a ‘huh’.

“So that happened,” Tony says, poking the bruise like the good little masochist he is. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow a little and he tilts his head to look at Tony properly. Tony knows how he must look, bruised and mussed and generally well-fucked. It’s a good look on him; it’s one he sometimes cultivates deliberately.

“Guess it did,” Bucky agrees, stretching out like a cat. “You’re damn good at that.”

  1. Tony can roll with this.



“Thanks. You too,” he says. “A plus work there, Buckaroo.”

Bucky laughs.

“I needed that,” Bucky says, his voice rough around the words. _Barnes Barnes Barnes_ , Tony’s going to get that through his thick skull sooner or later. It’s Barnes, not Bucky. For all they’ve swapped bodily fluids, they aren’t on first name terms. He does look better, though, more relaxed and more… comfortable in his own skin. It’s like for the first time he’s the right shape for his body. It’s good on him, and Tony’s eyes are drifting down Barnes’ body without his permission, his mind providing vivid reminders of what that skin tastes like.

“Happy to be of service,” Tony says.

“What time is it?” Barnes asks, as though they’re not both naked, or as though they’ve done this a hundred times before. Cognitive dissonance, that’s what this is. Seeing one thing while you know another is true.

“Almost nine.”

“I should go back to my room and pack,” Barnes says, rolling out of the bed and picking up his clothes with no shame whatsoever. There’s a bite mark, mostly faded on the curve of his ass. Tony lets himself look a little longer than necessary. “Thanks for this, Stark. We should do it again sometime.”

Then he walks out of the bedroom without looking back and Tony stares at the door.

*

Rhodey is singularly unhelpful when Tony calls him up.

“You don’t look surprised,” Tony says after a moment. “Why don’t you look surprised?”

“That you slept with one of your very attractive superhero colleagues?” Rhodey asks. “Honestly, I’ve been waiting for this since you and Pepper split up. It was either going to be Barnes or Barton.”

“Clint? You think I’d sleep with Clint?”

“I think the two of you would get drunk and horny together and forget why it was a bad idea.” Tony considers that for a moment and then concedes the point. Neither he nor Clint has the best track record of not doing stupid things while drunk. And that might very well include each other.

“So you’re not surprised?”

“After the thing with the goat and the fountain I’m pretty sure that I’m out of surprise for the next millennium,” Rhodey tells him.

“It was a ram, not a goat, and we promised we’d never speak of that again, honey bear.”

“You promised. I was too busy laughing.” Tony knew he should have got that promise in writing. “And why are you surprised?” Rhodey asks. “He’s exactly your type.”

“He’s not my type!” Tony objects. “I don’t have a type.”

“Good looking, dangerous, charming and a terrible idea?” Rhodey says, ticking them off on his fingers on the screen. “He might as well be wearing a sign that says ‘Tony Stark’s type’ around his neck.” Tony makes a face at that, because Rhodey knows him way too well. He’d thought he was doing a good job of ignoring Barnes, but apparently he hasn’t been as apathetic as he’d hoped. “Is it going to make things awkward?”

“I’m a grown man. I can handle a little recreational sex between friends,” Tony says. “It’ll be good for me.”

Rhodey’s raised eyebrow gives an eloquent reply to that comment without him needing to open his mouth.

“Shut up, it’s fine.”

“Oh god…” Rhodey says after a moment. “You’re going to do it again.”

Tony considers that. Well… Barnes had said they should.

“Maybe.”

“You’re doomed,” Rhodey tells him. He’s probably right.

*

It happens again. Tony’s heading toward the coffee machine, it’s a little after four in the morning and he almost bumps into Barnes in the doorway, the man’s got the look of a bear with a sore head. He grunts a little and they pass each other by, barely looking up until Tony’s two steps into the room and he remembers the slow stretch of Barnes’s limbs against the sheets and how utterly relaxed he’d seemed.

“Hey Barnes,” he says, staring at the coffee machine. He hears the man pause. Tony turns to look over his shoulder and sees Barnes frozen. “Want to try round two?”

Barnes, it turns out, does. He stalks back towards Tony and falls on him with the force of a tsunami, and after that Tony’s almost just along for the ride. It’s not as angry as the time before, but it does have an air of desperation about it. Like Bucky’s trying to bury himself in Tony, right there under his skin.

And Tony lets him, takes what Barnes gives and pushes back as hard as he can. It’s not brutal, but it’s deep and when Bucky’s pushing into him, muttering something in Russian over and over, Tony just clings to his back.

Barnes does seem better again in the morning, so Tony counts it as a job well done. It’s not exactly a healthy coping mechanism they’ve got going on here, but it’s certainly more enjoyable than some others Tony’s seen.

“Thanks,” Barnes says. He ducks his head a bit, guilt gnawing at his lips.

“Any time,” Tony says. When he smiles, he does it as broadly as he can and Barnes returns it, just a little bit.

Then Barnes is gone again.

*

It becomes a bit of a pattern. There’ll be weeks in between, on one memorable occasion, a couple of months, and in those times Tony will go to his workshop and Barnes will do… whatever it is he does when he’s not making a mess of Tony’s bed, and life will go on as normal. Well, as normal as it can for Avengers.

But every now and then Barnes will show up, looking like he’s half consumed by shadow and sometimes he’ll ask nicely, and sometimes he’ll push Tony up against the wall first, then bury his face into the crook of Tony’s neck and just wait there until Tony tells him to get a move on.

Tony’s not sure what he’s doing – playing sex therapist, or something. They don’t exactly talk about it, but Barnes always looks better afterwards and Tony’s getting semi-regular mind-blowing sex with a super soldier, so he’s not going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth.

Except he is.

Because he’s Tony Stark.

*

“What exactly is the plan?” Natasha asks one day, sitting on the arm of the chair where Tony’s trying to do some work on his tablet.

“If you want plans, you should talk to Cap. That’s his thing. There’s a song about it and everything.” He doesn’t look up.

“I meant the plan with you and James,” Natasha says. Tony’s fingers pause over the screen for a split second, but it’s enough for her to notice.

“No plan,” Tony says, though he’s thought through a thousand different scenarios.

“That’s not a good idea,” Natasha tells him.

“There’s nothing to plan,” Tony points out. All there _is_ is sex, and even that isn’t planned. It just happens.

“Always have an exit strategy,” she says. “Always.” He flicks his eyes up to hers for a split second and sees something there, something that’s almost gentle and far too real for him to cope with.

“No one’s heart’s getting broken,” he says. “We’re consenting adults. It’s not a problem.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just watches Tony work for a little while before slipping away when he isn’t paying attention.

*

The sex doesn’t make things weird – until it does. Tony and Bucky mostly talk over dinner or on missions, when there are other people – and _things_ – to focus on, to distract Tony from the line of Bucky’s neck that he might have been kissing the night before, the flex of the fingers of his metal hand, just like the flex as it ran down Tony’s bare thigh.

OK, so he’s already distracted enough, but if other people weren’t around it would be worse. When they are alone together, mostly they’re having sex. So yes, no awkwardness.

Until Tony’s coming up to a two night insomnia attack, his whole body so tired it’s dragging behind his brain, which Won’t. Shut. Up.

Barnes finds him in the kitchen and it takes Tony a moment to notice him, standing zoned out as he stares unseeing at the coffee maker. But when Tony does notice the movement out of the corner of his eye and turn with a start to see what it is, Barnes is tense with the usual level of need. It’s clear that he’s been looking for Tony, only for Tony. Clear that he needs to blow off some steam and get the hell out of his head for a little while. But Tony… Tony couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

They freeze as their eyes meet, staring at each other. Tony feels a little like he’s been caught in the act of some small infraction. Like when Jarvis used to catch him creeping downstairs after his bedtime back when he was small enough to hide behind armchairs without ducking.

Words swirl in Tony’s head. Thoughts that never quite become verbal dart into his mind before evaporating into more nonsense. He should say something, or do something. Barnes needs… And Tony said anytime… And this is something he can _do_ , a way that he was allowed to _help_. He is…

The sound of ceramic against ceramic makes him blink and something is sitting on the counter in front of Tony’s face. It takes a moment for the image to resolve itself into something that makes sense. Mug. Liquid, dark brown and milky. Hot.

Coffee… Coffee will make his brain work. Coffee will–

Tony splutters.

“Not coffee!” he says, glaring at the liquid for the crime. A chuckle comes from his right and he jumps as he remembers that he is not alone.

“Cocoa,” Barnes says. “With cinnamon and honey.”

“Coffee,” Tony says.

“Cocoa,” Barnes repeats, reaching out a metal finger to push the mug towards Tony a centimetre more. “You need to sleep, Stark. So drink the damn cocoa or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Tony stares at the mug. He is aware, dimly, that there are other options. He does not _have_ to drink the cocoa. But it does taste surprisingly good – not the way coffee tastes good, but sweet and mellow – and in the end it’s easier to drink it.

After Tony starts, drinking, like some sort of reward, Bucky starts to talk.

“My ma used to make it for us, on our birthdays as a treat. And there were these ginger cookies she’d buy to go with it. I remember…”  Tony looks up at the pause, but Barnes isn’t looking at him, he’s squinting at the ceiling, frowning a little with effort, trying to pull a memory out of the morass that is his brain. “But I haven’t been able to find ‘em since I– I think… I think Stevie used to…”

The words merge into a pleasant background buzz as Tony’s head falls forwards. He doesn’t even realise that he’s falling asleep until he wakes up the next day on his own bed.

That’s when it gets awkward.

Sex is simple: orgasms are fun; they’re even more fun when they’re shared. It’s been a long time since Tony smothered the last of his shame about sex.

But he knows what Barnes was looking for that night, and Tony knows that he didn’t deliver. Instead Barnes carried him to bed like a child – not attractive and definitely not what Barnes needed.

For all he talks, he’s not good at saying what he actually means. So he doesn’t mention that evening. The cookies, though, are the least he can do to apologise. They’re not the same, he can’t find the ones Barnes was talking about, but when Barnes opens the cupboard door to find twenty different varieties of ginger cookie, the look on his face is comical, even over the video screen that Friday plays for Tony down in the workshop.

Barnes never says anything either, but he does look at Tony sometimes. It’s a thoughtful sort of look. There’s no heat to it, just consideration. It makes Tony shift uncomfortably whenever it happens. And Steve notices the shifting, and then he notices the looking, and then _he’s_ looking too. Which makes everything ten times more awkward.

Tony can honestly say that he’d never once considered Captain America possibly finding out that Tony’s been having casual sex with his ex-amnesiac best friend as a problem he might have one day. Which goes to show that even a futurist can be taken completely by surprise.

It takes a couple of weeks to narrow it down, but one brand of cookies definitely disappears more quickly than the others. He has a winner! And Friday adds them to the shopping list.

Three nights after _the Cocoa Incident_ , Tony’s signing things on the coffee table, because that’s where Pepper finally managed to corner him, when a _presence_ appears in the doorway.

Presence is the only way he can think to describe it. Tony can tell he’s there without looking up, like the magnetic fields in the room shift somehow. The air becomes charged.

Tony signs his name with a flourish before looking up.

“Barnes,” he says.

“I was just heading to bed,” Barnes says from where he’s leaning in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, which makes the sleeves of his shirt stretch around his biceps. There’s a smirk on his face that Tony’s never really seen before. It’s almost playful. “Wanna join me?”

So they’re doing _this_ now. This is different from before. This isn’t a need. Barnes hasn’t got the shadows around him today. He doesn’t have the look of a tightly coiled spring. He looks like this is fun. It’s a good look. Tony approves.

He raises an eyebrow and rises to the challenge.

“Gonna make it worth my while, Bucky Ball?” he asks, raking his eyes up and down Barnes’ form deliberately.

“I ain’t gonna do all the work, doll. You’ll have to keep up.”

Barnes pushes himself off the doorframe, hips first, in a sinuous roll of movement that makes Tony’s mouth go a little dry. Then he turns with a satisfied smirk and walks away, not looking back.

Tony looks back at the paperwork. It can wait. Pepper probably won’t be expecting it back for days. She tends to plan around Tony being Tony. Which means…

He’s out the door following Barnes in an instant. His suit jacket and tie lie forgotten on the back of the sofa.

He follows Barnes down the corridor and into the elevator, where they wrap themselves around each other as Barnes gropes for the button to his floor. When the elevator dings to announce their arrival, Barnes peels himself away and heads for his room, leaving Tony to follow once more. Just as they’re heading into Barnes’ room  (the first time they’ve done this in _his_ territory rather than Tony’s) Steve’s head pops out of a door and looks at them. Tony meets his eyes, but his feet carry him into Barnes’s room anyway, and the door closes behind them, Steve’s eyes still watching.

Tony’s not got any time to think about what this means, before Bucky’s got one hand on his face, the other sliding round his waist and into the small of his back. They’re kissing, and Bucky’s smiling through it, which is new, and delightful.

It feels different, lighter. It’s less immediate and more leisurely now. They take a bit more time and they joke as they go. When Tony almost ends up on the floor from some enthusiastic rolling, he laughs, his head falling into the centre of Barnes’ chest, which is also shaking with laughter. And somehow, in amongst it all, Barnes becomes Bucky and Stark becomes Tony.

They take their time, learning the little things they’ve always bypassed before. Like the spot on Bucky’s knee that makes him shiver all over, and the way Tony likes how Bucky grips his hair.

Of course, when Tony wakes up, it’s his turn to make the walk of shame. Bucky wakes up enough to laugh when Tony gets caught in his own pants leg in the dark and the grin on his face makes Tony want to kiss him goodbye, but that’s not what this is.

That’s not what this is.

He gives a little salute, then he’s out the door.

Tony’s almost home and dry when he meets Cap in the elevator in his running clothes.

“Tony,” Steve says in greeting.

“Cap,” Tony replies, stepping into the elevator. “How many marathons was it this morning? Stop to rescue any puppies from burning buildings?”

“Just thirteen miles today,” Steve says. “And no puppies. So you and Buck?” The switch in topic is so abrupt it almost gives Tony whiplash even though he knew it was coming.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Sort of. It’s a thing. Not a serious thing. Just sex. Don’t worry, I’m being gentle.”

Steve huffs a little.

“Is he?” he says, and what can Tony say to that? He just sort of gapes and then Steve smirks and shakes his head. “Sorry. I just. I’m not mad Tony.”

“You’re not?” Tony asks, because he is still sort of expecting Mama Bear Rogers to ask him what his intentions are.

“No.” Steve takes a deep breath and then lets it out in a long hiss. “Bucky’s making his own decisions again. That’s good.”

“Even if I’m one of them?” Tony asks. Back to poking at raw wounds with curious fingers, because this is what he does.

“You’re not a bad decision,” Steve says, and that’s not what Tony said, but Steve’s good at cutting through bullshit. If it weren’t for the super strength, Tony would say that was his superpower. The elevator stops at the communal floor and Steve steps out, but he stops the door with a hand for a moment, turning back to look Tony right in the eye, with the sort of earnestness that only Captain America can manage. “I just hope it’s a good decision for both of you.”

“Right,” Tony says, because he has no idea what that is supposed to mean. Steve shakes his head and lets the doors close, so Tony can get back to his penthouse and work out what he’s actually doing with his life.

*

It happens more frequently after that. There are still the bad days, when Bucky looks like he’s close to snapping, but there are the other times as well. The times when Bucky slides up behind Tony when he’s doing things, slipping his hands under Tony’s shirt and whispering dirty ideas in his ear.

It’s almost a relationship, but it’s not. They’re not together outside of the sex. There are no date nights, no sitting next to each other on the sofa, no casual touches without intent. It’s sex or it’s nothing.

And that’s enough.

Except Tony’s noticing things now, like the way Bucky always moves a chair to a position where he can see the exits; the way his fingers can’t seem to resist trailing over the suede cushion on the sofa or how he always shivers if he isn’t wearing three layers. Even the fact that there’s a rocking chair in one of the rooms on his floor that usually has one of Bucky’s guns set out ready to be cleaned in front of it.

And if a few more suede cushions appear, and another rocking chair finds its way into the main living room in just the right spot, with a thick blanket over the back of it, then it’s purely coincidental.

There’s no reason for that stupid look on Steve’s face. Tony’s just being a good host.

*

“Barnes seems to like his presents,” Rhodey says when he visits. He’s in the workshop, avoiding Dum-E as he whizzes back and forth on some mission that only he seems to know about.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, light of my life,” Tony says, juggling holograms with the ease of long practice. He doesn’t look at Rhodey.

“Sure you don’t,” Rhodey says. “How’s that no strings attached sex thing going for you, by the way.”

“Good,” Tony tells him.

“Good?” Rhodey asks. “That’s all you have to say on the matter.”

Tony turns his head just enough to give Rhodey a delighted leer.

“You mean you want to hear about my sex life now? Rhodey, darling, what happened to ‘I don’t want to hear about that, Tony’? And ‘I don’t need to hear about his dick, Tony’? And ‘if you ever describe another one of your orgasms I’m going to tell my mother what really happened to her china duck, Tony’?”

“Precisely,” Rhodey says. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up about these things. And now you’re practically silent. What’s up with that?”

“Well, if you insist, I can tell you about last night. You see, Bucky had me on-“

“Bucky?” Rhodey interrupts. Fuck. Tony should have left well enough alone.

“Barnes.”

“No, you said ‘Bucky’,” Rhodey says with a smug smile. “When did that happen?”

“We live together, Rhodey-bear. Of course we’re going to call each other by name.”

“Right.”

“Right.” Tony repeats. “Stop looking at me like that. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Then it must be true,” Rhodey says. He and Tony stare at each other for a long moment and then Tony huffs out a breath.

“I’ve been looking at ways to make the War Machine armour faster,” he says. “Do you want to see them or do you want to keep talking about my feelings.”

“So there _are_ feelings?”

“I think I can improve on the aerodynamics, even with those ridiculous cannons you insist on hauling around,” Tony says. “I can build them into the design of the shoulders a bit more.”

Rhodey is an awesome friend, because he lets the change in subject happen and doesn’t bring up Bucky or anything related to him for the rest of his visit.

*

Tony’s not sure when it happened, but he and Bucky have started spending time together that doesn’t involve awesome sex.

They’ll chat over coffee or lunch, or Bucky will give Tony tips when he’s sparring with Steve. He listens to Tony talk about his armour, or the latest tech advancements in the journals he gets. They talk about cars and sometimes about other, more personal things. Bucky will tell him odd little things that he remembers while he’s making breakfast pancakes. Tony hears about the Commandoes, or about Steve ‘Fight me’ Rogers and growing up in a time when you still had to be old enough to wear long trousers. Tony trades him for the stories of the Captain America comics, which Bucky finds hilarious, and he likes to do all the voices when they read them out loud.

Tony can definitely call them friends now. But there’s still a careful delineation between this part of their relationship and the part that happens in the bedroom. He’s not kidding himself that there’s anything more than friendship there.

Friends with benefits. It’s a step up from fuck buddies, he supposes.

*

Tony’s genuinely happy. It’s a strange feeling. He’ll wake up next to Bucky in bed and he’ll be smiling. He’ll grin when Bucky sits next to him at meal times. Pepper comments on it. Steve comments on it, with a knowing look. Clint tells him to stop it because apparently Tony smiling scares him.

“I keep wondering what you’ve done to make yourself so happy,” Clint says. “Did you invent some sort of doomsday device? Have you finally crossed over into true mad science?”

“I’ve invented a device specifically for hunting down annoying archers and depositing them in Timbuktu,” Tony tells him. “I’m calling it the Hawkeye Remover.”

“Seriously Stark, are you stoned or something?” Clint asks, from where he’s perched on the back of the sofa. “You haven’t even had your third cup of coffee yet today.”

Tony realises that he’s right and goes to rectify that situation straight away. He pours one for Clint as well because even Hawkeye can’t talk with coffee in his mouth.

“What’s her name?” Clint asks.

“Maybe I’m smiling because I’m imagining sticking you to the ceiling with one of your putty arrows,” Tony says, but as he’s passing Clint the second mug, Bucky walks in and Tony knows he’s smiling again. Bucky waves hello to both of them, clearly not in a talking mood this morning.

Not like last night. Last night he’d definitely been in a talking mood.

Bucky grabs an apple and heads out, presumably to meet Steve in the training room.

Tony turns back to Clint as Bucky disappears and there’s a look of surprise on Hawkeye’s face.

“Really? Barnes?” Clint asks.

“Problem, Tweety pie?”

“Nope. Just impressed,” Clint says. “Didn’t think you had enough game to pull that.”

“You have no idea how much game I have,” Tony tells him.

“So when he moves into the penthouse, can I get his room? I need somewhere to keep my weapons.”

“He’s not moving into the penthouse,” Tony says. “It’s just sex, no feelings involved.”

“Ri-ight,” Clint says. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Tony says. Luckily, before Clint can be any more annoying, Thor appears and proves as useful a distraction as ever.

*

They’re back in Tony’s room again, and Tony’s grinning wildly, his hair’s a mess and his chest is heaving as he flops back onto the bed.

“So,” Bucky says. He doesn’t sound nearly as satisfied as he should. “That was…”

“Spectacular,” Tony says. “I know. We’re really amazing at this. Practically perfect.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, but he sounds a bit flat. Tony turns onto his side and looks over. Bucky’s staring at the ceiling, his face a little sad.

“What’s up, Bucky bear?”

“Nothing, I’m good.”

“Okay…” Tony says. He feels like there’s something he’s missing here. The sex is supposed to make Bucky feel better, not worse. “Want to go again?”

*

A week later and Tony lies staring at the ceiling. The bed feels empty and strangely large, where it never has before. Or maybe it always has.

He could find Bucky. Sure, up until now, apart from that second time, it’s always been Bucky initiating their rendezvous, but Tony doesn’t doubt that he could walk out now, go down to Bucky’s room, knock on the door and he would be welcomed.

But he doesn’t _need_ to. He can sleep on his own. It’s the sex that’s the point, isn’t it, not the companionship. Though it is nice to have someone there.

It’s probably Bucky’s body temperature, he reasons. Super soldiers run hotter than average. It’s like having a living hot water bottle.

“Friday, order me a hot water bottle,” he says. “And raise the room temperature by two degrees.”

“Gottit boss,” Friday replies.

He doesn’t sleep that night. His hand hovers over the button for Bucky’s floor when he gets into the elevator, but he hits the button for the workshop instead.

And if he works on the schematics for Bucky’s arm, then that’s just because it was the first project he came across. It could just as easily have been Clint’s new quiver.

*

When his hot water bottle turns up, it’s grey with red stars. Even his AI is in on this.

It doesn’t work, either.

*

It’s been another week and Bucky hasn’t come to find him.

They’ve never talked about it, this thing between them. Neither of them has every put into words what it is or how long it will last, and Tony’s wondering if this is it. Did it end while he wasn’t looking? Was he in his workshop at the wrong time? Did he say the wrong thing? With Pepper things had ended with a jagged sort of line. There had been a gradual fizzling out, but the actual end had been clear and definite. He could point to it on a calendar.

But the thing with Bucky is nothing like his relationship with Pepper. For a start, it’s not a relationship. It isn’t even an arrangement. Perhaps the best word for it is a ‘convenience’. And if Bucky’s decided that he no longer needs Tony like that, then Tony guesses it must be over.

Maybe it will happen again and maybe it won’t. That’s just how it is.

Which is how it always was. So there’s no point in worrying about it, or thinking about it, or being sad about it.

They still talk to each other. They still hang out as friends, which is good. It’s good. It’s all Tony really needs. But it feels stilted. Tony wants to ask what’s happened, but he holds himself back. He finds himself avoiding Bucky, even though he wants to talk to him, because it’s confusing and uncomfortable.

But the hot water bottle isn’t big enough and the bed is too big and Tony spends time wandering the communal floor aimlessly. He’s not waiting for Bucky to turn up. He’s working on things. There’s a tablet in his hand and he’s making things to change the world.

Two more weeks pass, and Bucky’s still polite and friendly in the daytime, and absent at night.

Then one day he turns up. Tony’s lying on the sofa, legs propped on one arm as he flicks through holograms, trying to find something that will hold his interest.

He knows Bucky’s there immediately, and starts upright in an instant. They look at each other.

Bucky’s still dressed. He hasn’t been to sleep. He’s wearing a t-shirt that Tony bought for him and jeans that hug his thighs, and his ass, not that Tony can see that from here.

“Hi,” Bucky says, and then moves through the room. He fetches a glass of water. Stretching up to reach it from the top shelf, so a strip of skin appears just above his waist band. Tony watches him.

He turns back and downs the water in one go, his head tilting back so that Tony’s eyes follow the line of his throat as he swallows.

“You going to bed?” Tony asks as Bucky heads for the door again. Bucky pauses and looks back.

“Yeah,” he says. The silence afterwards stretches out. Bucky doesn’t extend the invitation. It’s on Tony’s lips to ask if he wants Tony to join him, but he reins it in. He’s not going to be that guy, the guy who doesn’t know when it’s over.

“Right,” he says instead. “Sleep well, I guess.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump a bit, maybe in relief that Tony’s not going to press the point.

“Yeah, you too,” Bucky says and then walks off.

It’s a lot more efficient to just work in the workshops, rather than hanging around in the living room, so Tony starts spending his time down there, where the camp bed in the corner is barely big enough for him, nowhere near big enough to feel empty, and the whirr of the bots keeps him company.

*

The trouble with Rhodey is that he’s so often right. Tony muses.

Somewhere in the past, Tony had been able to pull sexual partners on and off like his suit jackets, just another accessory to his life: a smile, a wink, a roll in the sheets and then out before breakfast.

He’d blame Pepper, but really, this isn’t her fault. It’s Tony’s fault all over again.

It’s his fault because he _knows_ Bucky, he actually _likes_ the man, had liked him even before they fell into bed together, so he should have known that he wouldn’t be able to separate the sex from the rest of it. He wants to curl up next to Bucky and just stay there. He wants to forget that this is a huge mistake and pretend like it actually means something. Meant something.

His hand comes to rest on his chest, right over where the arc reactor had been. It’s still strange not to feel the hard circle of it, to feel his heart beating freely, without the shrapnel hanging over it.

He grabs a bottle and tries to drown his feelings. It doesn’t work So he tries to bury them in work instead.

Pepper’s very pleased with his productivity. Steve gives him meaningful looks whenever he ventures up to the communal areas (whenever Friday assures him Bucky isn’t there). He wants to protest that he’s being a grown-up, but he doesn’t.

*

It’s been over a month since they last had sex and a week since they last spoke when Bucky comes down to the workshop.

He stands in the doorway for a long while after Friday alerts Tony to his presence, looking like he’s trying to talk himself out of something. Tony watches, not quite sure what he’s feeling as he does so. He wants to let Bucky in, but there is a small part of him that’s a little glad that this time it’s Bucky waiting on him.

He pushes that part of himself down, viciously and tells Friday to let Bucky in.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky says after the door opens. “So this is your kingdom, hey?”

“Technically all of Stark Industries is my kingdom,” Tony says. “But this is my castle.” He spreads his arms wide. “Like it?”

He keeps his voice light and breeze and leaps from his seat. Moving is the key. If you stand still, they can see you too clearly, you have to keep moving, and you’ll always be just that little bit blurred around the edges.

“What can I do you for, Buckaroo?” he asks. Bucky’s never been down before, though Tony has hinted about the arm, and about the body armour that’s in a crate in the corner, and the gadgets that might have been designed to go with that armour. The belt with the rappelling rope coiled into the buckle, the concealed knives and other devices. He’s got a whole pile with Bucky’s name on them. But the arm, he’s seen it up close and personal. Tony’s become intimately acquainted with that arm and its skills and limitations and he just wants to… improve it.

“Just browsin’,” Bucky tells him, stopping to peer at Butterfingers, who peers back. “Which one are you?” he asks, to Butterfingers, not to Tony, which makes Tony smile.

“No, U’s the one over there,” Tony says, pointing to the far corner where U’s trying to make himself useful. “That’s Butterfingers and Dum-E is-“

Dum-E , summoned by the sound of his name, or having only just realised the presence of an unfamiliar face, zooms past, not stopping until he’s right in front of Bucky, his claw raised.

“Hey,” Bucky says, patting Dum-E lightly with a chuckle. “Stevie wasn’t lying when he said you were a character, was he?”

Cap and Bucky have been talking about Tony’s bots. The thought sticks in Tony’s mind like a splinter. If they’ve been talking about the bots, it follows – it’s likely – that they’ve been talking about Tony. It’s not that he thought they didn’t talk about him, it’s more that he hasn’t thought about them talking about him before, and now it’s sparking ideas in his head, chains of thoughts that chase each other around his brain.

That way madness lies.

He shakes off the feeling and watches Bucky with the bots. Even U has joined the welcoming committee now, even though Tony calls out to him to get back to work.

It’s just because Tony’s become used to a regular supply of sex. That’s what it is. His libido has become accustomed to it, and accustomed to Bucky, that’s why when Bucky bends over to pick something off the floor that Butterfingers has dropped, his eyes immediately focus on his ass.

That’s why, when Bucky comes over to look at what Tony’s doing, he feels like Bucky’s right in his personal space. He can feel the heat of him all down his side as he leans over and tries fiddling with the holograms, exploding the view of the arrowhead Tony’s working on.

“This is something else,” Bucky breathes, his voice right in Tony’s ear, tickling the hairs there. Tony’s careful not to react, even as Bucky’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, his chest brushing against Tony’ other side.

It’s too much, too close, and Tony has to move away before he does something stupid like kissing the man.  He scoots his chair over to another workbench and picks up one of his most recent creations. He wheels around but Bucky’s right behind him and they come face to face.

“Look,” Bucky says. “I think maybe we got our wires crossed somewhere.”

Tony swallows. There’s no escape from this conversation now.

“No,” he says. “No crossed wires. No confusion. We’re on the same page.”

“Are we?” Bucky asks. His hand rises slowly, and his mouth opens again, but before he can speak the Avengers alarm goes off.

Tony’s never been more grateful to evil for existing.

“Going to have to take a rain check, Bucky Ball,” he says, heading for the armour. “Hold that thought.”

“We’re finishin’ this,” Bucky says with complete sincerity. “You’re not gonna run away from this.”

Tony bites his tongue, because no matter what Cap says, sometimes he does know when to be quiet.

“Right you are. Now haven’t you got a costume to be getting on?” he asks as the armour enfolds his body. “Get a move on soldier, or I’ll have started the party without you.”

The last thing Tony sees with his own eyes before the helmet closes over his head is Bucky’s glare.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Tony,” Bucky says. “Wait for the rest of us.”

“I can’t help it if you’re too slow,” Tony says, activating the repulsors so he rises a little off the floor. “See you later, soldier!”

He heads for the Iron man exit, which is essentially just an empty shaft up the building, and accelerates away.

*

Tony doesn’t remember what hit him, but it must have been pretty huge, because his whole body feels like a bruise when he finally comes back to the world of the conscious.

“Is it just me or did someone decide to play ten pin bowling with me as one of the pins?” he asks of no one in particular.

Heads come into view, interrupting his view of the plain ceiling of the treatment room: Clint and Natasha looking down at him.

“You were hit by a truck,” Natasha says.

“A flying truck,” Clint says.

“Then you hit a building,” Natasha adds.

“Then you were shot with a rocket launcher,” Clint says. “Gotta say, Stark, you even know how to get injured in style.”

“You either have it or you don’t, Feathers,” Tony says, struggling to sit up. “I’m guessing the armour’s toast?”

“Considering the way Barnes tore it off you? I’d say so,” Clint says.

“Barnes what?” Tony asks. “Why?”

“You weren’t responding to comms,” Natasha says. “He was worried.”

“That’s after he shot the guy who shot you,” Clint says. “Right in the head. Steve’s a bit mad about that. They’re having a chat about reasonable force. Sweet shot, though.”

“Right,” Tony says, reaching to pull off the monitors attached to his hands. That means that Bucky’s being distracted by Steve. If Tony just gets out of here and down to the lab he can lock everyone out and put off the conversation with Bucky until sometime when he doesn’t have a concussion and all over body bruising. Maybe sometime after never. That sounds good.

But as he’s swinging himself off the bed, the door bursts open.

“Where d’ya think you’re going?” Bucky asks. He looks angry, Steve’s over his shoulder, but he doesn’t look upset, so he can’t be that mad about Bucky’s foray into shooting people.

“Somewhere that doesn’t smell of disinfectant and sick people,” Tony replies.

“You’ve got two fractured ribs and a concussion,” Bucky says. “And we still need to talk.”

“I have two fractured ribs and a concussion,” Tony echoes back. “Not really a good time for a talk, Barnes.”

“Clint, Natasha?” Steve says from the doorway. “Debriefing room. Buck, you’ll keep an eye on Tony?”

“Sure thing,” Bucky says, still glaring at Tony.

“Glad you’re awake,” Steve says to Tony, then pats Bucky on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t turn around.

Then Steve is gone, ushering Clint and Natasha away with him and leaving Tony alone with Bucky. It’s not ideal, but Tony can work with what he’s got.

“So, talking,” Tony says. “I can do that.”

“No,” Bucky says. “I’m going to start. And you’re going to wait until I’m finished so we don’t have any more misunderstandings.”

“More misunderstandings?” Tony asks. “We haven’t misunderstood anything. It’s fine, Barnes, really. I-“

Bucky reaches out a hand to press over Tony’s mouth.

“Seriously, doll. Shut up.”

Tony glares at him and Bucky removes the hand, but Tony doesn’t speak again.

“Right…” Bucky says. “You and me. We’re good together and I don’t just mean the sex.”

Tony wants to make a comment, something crude that will take this conversation out of the serious place it seems to have gone to, but as soon as he opens his mouth Bucky stops him by talking again.

“That’s how it started, sure. You were the only one who could get me out of my head. It was… My therapist said it was a coping mechanism. But it wasn’t just that. I liked you. I like you. You’re funny and smart and you’re not scared of me or my arm. You’d do sweet things, like the cookies, or like setting up the chair for me.

“What I’m trying to say is that I thought we were getting somewhere, but that maybe you didn’t want a… a relationship. I was always coming to you, and we didn’t talk about it. We never talked about it. You talk about everything, but you never mentioned what we were doing. I didn’t know if you were ashamed of it, or you didn’t want people to know. But then I found out that all the others knew. So it wasn’t that. And Clint was telling me about friends with benefits, so that’s what we had, and you never said you wanted more.

“I… I was going to let you start something, but you never did. I thought you’d come to my room, but you never did. So I went to you, but you still didn’t say anything, even when I left you an opening. So I thought maybe you weren’t bothered by it.” Bucky sighs and pushes his hand through his hair. “Steve’s yelled at me for not talking to you about things already. I just… I thought you’d say if it was something you wanted.”

Tony’s shocked mute by the revelation that all the time he was lying there waiting for Bucky to come to him, Bucky was doing the exact same thing.

“You want a relationship?” Tony says. He means it to be a statement, but it comes out like a question.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Tony says. “I mean… this isn’t just because you’ve imprinted on me, or something, is it? Because I was the first person you had sex with after your whole brainwashing thing, because that’s probably not a good basis for a relationship and…”

Bucky cuts him off with a firm kiss that sends sparks running through Tony’s veins.

“I’m not a duckling,” Bucky growls. “I didn’t imprint on you. I just think you’re a pretty great guy, and I’d like to maybe take you out sometime.”

“Yes, OK. How about tonight?” Tony says. “I know a great little place down on.”

Another kiss.

“You have two fractured ribs and a concussion,” Bucky points out again. “Not tonight.” Tony makes a face. “But soon. And then, after I’ve taken you out… I wondered if you’d maybe like to stay in.” Bucky leans in again, and this time Tony manages to meet him part way. This kiss isn’t over quickly, it lingers. Tony’s trying to memorise the taste of him, pushing up as Bucky’s hand comes to rest in Tony’s hair. He chases the flavour into Bucky’s mouth. It’s different again. It’s not desperate and it’s not joking. This time it’s tender, deeper than before. They’ve had sex dozens of times before, but it’s never felt this intimate before, or this honest. It’s so addictive that Tony’s pulling Bucky half onto the bed, trying to get as close to him as possible, ignoring the pain in his side in his effort to just wrap himself up in this feeling.

It might be the concussion or the lack of oxygen, but Tony’s feeling light-headed. Or maybe that floating feeling just means he’s happy.

Bucky’s hand slides over one of his fractured ribs and Tony has to gasp with pain. Bucky pulls back immediately and pecks Tony on the forehead, which is not at all what he was hoping for.

“Later,” Bucky says.

“That had better be a promise,” Tony says, his voice sounding rough in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries.

“Oh, it is.”

*

 

 

 

 


End file.
